


White Noise or the Ghost of Guilt

by hollowfirefly



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, Guilt, M/M, Sad, affair, blame, brallon, dealing with regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowfirefly/pseuds/hollowfirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a thousand things going on in my brain at this moment. Like the fact we’re about to go onstage. Like the fact that Brendon didn’t call me last night like he said he would. Like the fact that Spencer isn’t in the band anymore. Like the fact that Kenny and Dan barely look at me. Like the fact Brendon hasn’t looked at me all day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Noise or the Ghost of Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea I had. I hope you guys enjoy it! I'm not sure if I'm continuing but I might. If I don't, it can still be a one shot.
> 
> Enjoy! (Tumblr: dallonthings)
> 
> PS- the paragraph with no punctuation was purposefully written that way because it's from Dallon's POV and I wanted the stream of thought to be real.

There are a thousand things going on in my brain at this moment. Like the fact we’re about to go onstage. Like the fact that Brendon didn’t call me last night like he said he would. Like the fact that Spencer isn’t in the band anymore. Like the fact that Kenny and Dan barely look at me. Like the fact Brendon hasn’t looked at me all day.

And we walk onstage and I act like none of this is in my head. I pull the bass on over my head and give a quick smile that only I know isn’t real. The fans will probably get on my case tomorrow about not looking “happy” enough or how I’m “ungrateful.” It doesn’t bother me. They don’t know. They don’t know how much it hurts to be constantly surrounded by someone who means the world to you; someone who I believe could be the love of my life, and having to watch that person pull themselves away from you as if you were a disease.

When the drums come in and the sickening darkness mixes with the screams and the lights that beat down like sunlight on a vampire, my eyes find their way down to my hands as I work down the neck, my other hand pulling at the strings. I don’t even feel the strings anymore. These songs have become monotone muscle memory in my head and all I can really feel is his eyes when they land on me for a split second. That split second of hope before he turns away from me again.

Those moments when the music stops and Brendon begins to speak leave me in a dream. His voice the epitome of my heart and the way he speaks leaves my chest in pain.

“Alright you fuckers. This next song is about a girl I used to fu-,” Brendon starts but falters as the crowd gasps and there is a thunk where Brendon lays on the stage.

He’s not speaking.

And it feels like I’ve waited too long to get to him but I’m the first one by his side and Zack comes running out and Brendon isn’t awake but he’s breathing just barely and Zack goes to pick him up but I yell at him because he’s mine this man is mine and he always has been and it’s my job to take care of him and I carry him off stage and Zack is screaming at someone to get an ambulance and the paramedics are putting him on a stretcher and Kenny says something to Dan about the show being cancelled and fuck how can you be worried about the show when Brendon is hurt and he isn’t awake and I follow into the ambulance even though Zack tells me not to and I hold his hand because I don’t care who sees. I don’t.

We get to the hospital and I follow the paramedics inside. The walls are cold and uninviting and the smell is worse than a nursing home. I barely see anyone amongst the amount of people waiting in the waiting room. I can only see Brendon on the stretcher, eyes closed and his mouth curled down.

He’s not smiling and he’s not speaking. He’s barely breathing and it’s like all of the sunshine has gone away.

This can’t happen.

The doctors are pulling me away and I can’t protest because I have tunnel vision and my eyes only can see the beautiful boy laying on the damp cloth. My body is limp and I can barely move in the space within me. Breathing irregular, mind drowning in a mix of anger and guilt and worry.

And I’m not sure when the rest of the band and Zack got there but I didn’t notice until Kenny has a hand on my shoulder as I bite my thumb nail restlessly.

“He’ll make it through, Dallon. He’s strong. You know that.” Kenny says and I don’t know why, but I want to punch him. He doesn’t understand that if Brendon doesn’t make it through then… It’s all gone. All the apologies he needed to give Brendon. All the apologies he needed _from_ Brendon. All the smiles and the flirtatious punches between them.

It’s all gone.

“Yeah all right.” Is all I say before looking away from Kenny and shrugging his hand off my shoulder.

About 45 minutes pass and I am sitting on the bench right outside the trauma doors. He’s in there alone and I can’t help him.

There are a thousand things going on in my brain at this moment. Like the fact that Brendon is alone. Like the fact that I can’t help him. Like the fact that Sarah is here now and she’s acting as if all of this is her choice. Like the fact that she’s upset and crying and everyone is comforting her because she’s his wife and no one believes that the pain I’m feeling is just as bad if not worse.

And he didn’t call me to ask if I loved him. And he didn’t call me just to talk. And he didn’t call me to tell me it was real. The night spent eating chocolate ice cream and drinking whiskey and Dr. Pepper against the dark sky inside a hotel room where they acted as if the power was out and their bodies were the only source of heat.

Brendon didn’t call me and I didn’t even ask him why.

Then the doctor is right in front of me and there’s a stern look on his face. I can’t tell if it’s his average long day doctor expression or if there’s something worse.

“Are you his friend?” The doctor asks and I wish I could protest and say boyfriend, lover, best friend, anything other than just ‘friend’.

“Yes.” I answer and suddenly the band and the crew are there with him and Sarah is there, her makeup running down her face.

“Your friend,” The doctor pauses and looks at Sarah, “and husband,” He looks back at them all, “Brendon, got hit really hard with whatever hit him as you may know.” The doctor pauses, “We did our best to save him but the skull cracked and the brain is too damaged to be saved. There is no brain stem activity. We’re keeping him on a ventilator but there is no way for him to come back from this.”

There’s a pause and I haven’t quite wrapped myself around the words yet when I hear the doctor say,

“I’m sorry but Brendon is dead.”

And then it hits but it doesn’t really _hit._ And Sarah is sobbing into Zack’s chest and the band hasn’t really reacted yet.

“No.” I say to the doctor and he tries to console me but I push him back. “No he isn’t dead go _save_ him, asshole!” I yell and there’s a tornado inside my ribcage. It’s been hiding for too long, looking for the right blend of hot and cold wind and this is it. This is pain level ten out of ten. My hands are shaking and I don’t really remember asking if I can go see Brendon but I remember standing over him. I take ahold of his hand, rubbing the pad of my thumb over his knuckles and they’re so white. He’s so cold and he’s never cold. Brendon is supposed to be warm and this wasn’t supposed to happen until he was older. Brendon was not supposed to die until him and I were 80 and in some home playing poker. They were supposed to die peacefully in each other’s arms.

The doctor and Sarah walk in and she’s holding onto Brendon’s arm. I slowly back up to allow them their time. I walk out of the room and stare in at the man lying on the bed. The doctor goes to unplug the ventilator…

I burst in. “What are you doing?” I try to yell, but my voice wavers, on the brink of tears.

“Mrs. Urie determines whether to keep Mr. Urie on life support or not.” The doctor explains. “She’s chosen not to.” He says solemnly and my hands form fists, knuckles whitening.

“How dare you.” I spit at Sarah whose eyes are pleading for me to understand, but I can’t. I can’t understand how she could kill him just like that, so soon, so easily.

And without a word I storm out of the hospital.

This time with the ghost of guilt weighing on me.


End file.
